I Made A Simple Tamil Wife My Whore In Colombo, Sri Lanka free porn video

I was a contractor in the infamous Global War on Terror™ for several years, going back to 2004.  Hired for my military experience, I worked in Afghanistan on a variety of military contracts.  The money was good, and I was hooked on the thrill of being in the action.  I was making up to $900 per day while in-country.

While the money was piling up in our bank accounts, the long separations caused problems in my marriage.  I was around fifty-five at this time and my wife Maria around fifty-three.  She was a third-generation Mexican-American whom I had met during an army posting to Fort Huachuca, Arizona.  She was still looking good, a shorty at 5 feet one, cinnamon-brown skin, and with all her excess weight in her boobs and ass.  34C-33-and maybe 38 or even 40.  The kind of woman that draws your attention when you’re walking behind her.  

I am a white-bread guy, six feet and in good shape from hanging around bases with Navy SEALs, Marines, and Army Special Forces, hitting the well-equipped gyms regularly.  I still had a good deal of my sandy brown and gray hair.

Before the wars, my wife Maria had caught me cheating several times.   Long story, not going to digress, but I had mistresses for years.  While Maria could be a little harsh on me, the main reason for me cheating was my high sex drive and an amoral compulsion to fuck every woman I could.  That was something I had picked up in the army, where sport-fucking divorcees out of Texas C&W bars, pulling young sluts out of European discos, or going to brothels in Mexico or Germany was me and my buddies’ main pastime.  I just didn’t see the problem in fucking around.

After one particularly bad episode in which she found out and confronted the other woman, also a Latina, in person, we had a long period of silence and her being angry.  I was chastened – thoroughly beat down by her anger and my shame.  After a month, she began to soften towards me, but also did something new to me.  

She would tell me about guys who hit on her, almost daily.  At her work, at the mall, in the supermarket.  Some of these approaches were mild and subtle – “Maria, that’s a nice dress you are wearing”  “You’re looking fine today, your husband’s a lucky man” “You’ve had an interesting life, I’d like to have lunch sometime and get to know you better.”  A few were direct and crude in places like parking lots or on the street – “Damn, that ass, baby!”  

One time, she told me about the time she was at a youth sports event organized by the city she worked for. A retired NFL player was invited to the event, whose name American football fans would recognize.  A black former running back (not OJ, younger).  Sports fans, you know the type - the "good guy" who retired from the local team and stayed a local hero through community activities, paid endorsements of local businesses and the occasional appearance on TV sportscasts.

She told me that during the speeches and presentations held inside this school gym, she noticed him staring at her, obviously scanning her body, and then focusing his eyes on her eyes, boring into her like a laser.  She said this made her nervous, and she averted her eyes, only to look up and meet his eyes again.

The event ended and she broke off to attend to business, wrapping things up and talking to her co-workers and community leaders she knew.  She walked out of the school and saw the NFL guy.  He was waiting for her!  This was a guy who was used to getting the pussy he wanted and didn’t waste time.  

“Hey, girl, great event - glad I came, especially since I saw you”  

“Thank you for coming, the kids loved you being here.”

“Happy to support you, maybe we can do more in the future”

She told me he walked over to her and “got in my space,” “he was very tall, and wide shoulders.  A bit of a potbelly.”   She said he loomed over her, “maybe 6’5.”  She said he motioned for her to come into the shade of a secluded alcove in the wall of the school, it was sunny and hot that day.

She complied with his direction.   

“I’m not gonna lie or waste time, I like the way you look and want to get to know you better,” he said.  He smiled and his eyes drilled into hers

“I’m married,” she protested

“Honey, you know that doesn’t mean much.”

“Maybe to you, but not to me.”

“What does it mean to your husband? Do you know?”

“Not that much, he’s a dog,” she said.

“Umm-hmm, see what I mean?  

Now those last lines, maybe she was throwing those in to shame or provoke me, this retired NFL guy obviously had no idea about our history.  Of course, he might have regularly used the line on married women as a resistance breaker.

“I’m faithful,” she said

“Baby, I live in town, would love to see you again, no obligations.  Here’s my card, call me”

According to her, with that, he leaned into her, gave her his card, and hugged her and tried to kiss her on the lips.  She said she turned her face.  

Of course, she showed me his card.  I knew she was telling me all these stories to make me jealous and insecure in the marriage, to discipline me out of fucking other women, but this was a real close call story which had an effect on me Maria didn’t expect.  I was getting turned on.  Maria had always been a bit of a show-off, wearing low-cut blouses and short skirts, always clothes which showed her curves.  A slut with Catholic schooling who “said” she was chaste.  Now she was deploying her sexiness and attractiveness to others to attempt to control me.

I was turned on by this story and it was a turning point.  I asked her, almost in a croak, “So, are you going to call him?  Maybe you should; see what happens.”   

“No way, that would be the end of our marriage,” she protested.

“Maybe not, maybe it would be good for you to get revenge on me and balance things out.  It’s not like he’s going to want to marry you, he’s a player, I can tell you that”

As far as I know, Maria never called him, but the game had started.  I suggested she flirt back at work with the most attractive younger guys.  When we went out, sometimes I insisted we enter bars and dance clubs separately, so I could watch her talk and dance with the men who approached her.

She refused to go further, and I didn’t push.  I discovered the various cuckold and hotwife internet sites.  I read stories and sometimes I sent her those I thought were particularly hot.  She said I was sick.  I didn’t pursue it very strongly.

So 9/11 happened and on a whim, I answered a want-ad for a military contractor.  To my surprise, they called me up.  I was bored enough with my normie job and life that I took a job “for only six months” in Afghanistan just for the adventure.

Maria was against it, not just because there was a chance I’d get killed or maimed, but mostly because she was afraid I would fuck around on her while I was away.  Compared to World War II or Vietnam, Afghanistan wasn’t a place for romance, but there were opportunities with the few women contractors and even local Afghan women support staff.  That’s another story, too.

As I went back and forth to Afghanistan, the hotwife fantasy became more and more of a thing between us to manage the long separations and sexual deprivation, something to chat about.  Maria began to play along, telling me more about her flirting at work, sending me pictures when she dressed sexily.  Then she started going out with her unmarried girlfriends, meeting guys at clubs.

Maria told me that she and her girlfriend had met a couple of German engineers at an upscale club in the center of the city.  The Germans were in town on a regular consulting schedule for their company, it might have been Siemens.  It became clear that Maria and her girlfriend had each picked a favorite, and maybe vice-versa.  Maria ended up trading numbers with Paul, whom she described as a lean, tall guy who somewhat looked like Russel Crowe in Gladiator.

It took a while, but they had a dinner date.  According to her, nothing happened.  Then a second dinner date months later, in which she said they did some kissing after a walk in the park.  I interrupted the romance by coming back after a contract.  She never fucked him when I was around, she said.  When I left again, it happened.  It’s not the main subject of this story, but by the time the main events of this story happened, she was regularly sending me emails describing her sexual encounters with Paul in detail.  Maybe I’ll write about that separately.  It is possible Maria’s emails were imaginative fiction to entertain me, but they were so detailed and so in tune with her tastes and habits that I tended to believe them.  Plus, she changed in bed – mainly she became a much more enthusiastic and skilled cocksucker, no more teeth.  Anyways, that’s also another story.

So, this time, I’m going back to Afghanistan, and my wife is cucking me out back in the states while I’m gone.  I had flown to Doha, Qatar on a commercial flight and then took a taxi to the US base at Al Udeid, well outside the city.  I checked into the air transportation office and ended up being booked on an air force cargo flight to Kandahar – one week later.  This didn’t bother me, because the thrill of being in Afghanistan had long worn off and I was getting paid once I checked into the base.

It would be a drag to hang around the base for a week.  Going into Doha and getting a hotel room would be better, but I had already seen everything there, including a few Filipina and Moroccan women guest workers.  I searched through a travel booking site for nearby destinations.  I was also a bit tired of Dubai and Amman.  Beirut and Tel Aviv were problematic for various political and security reasons. I decided a five-hour flight was my limit for a short trip.  India needed a visa at the time – since then they have started visa on arrival.  It came down to Ethiopia and Sri Lanka.  Looking at the hotels available, I decided on Colombo, Sri Lanka.  I booked a flight and a room at the Galle Face Hotel near downtown on the shore.

I stored my large bag with a base worker I knew and booked a taxi to Doha airport.  The five-hour flight on Qatar Airways was pleasant, and I bought a bottle of Stoli at the Colombo airport duty-free on the way in.  This was more for any female room visitors I might have than for me.  I felt good when I checked into the Galle Face, a large “grand hotel” built during the British colonial days which preserved the wooden floors, dark paneling, potted plants, and starched white jackets for the hotel staff.  I always booked at large hotels in conservative, less-developed countries.  That way, if I “got lucky” and managed to persuade a woman to come back to my room, the entrances and lobbies were big enough and busy enough that our entry would not provoke scrutiny or obstruction.  The room was huge, with a king-size bed, a desk, and a couple of lounge chairs.

I went out and walked along the shore near the hotel. There were plenty of families out.  It was pleasant and seemed very safe.  Didn’t seem there were many possibilities for picking up women.  I went back to the hotel and had a “Lion” beer at the hotel bar and went to sleep.

The next day, I roamed around central Colombo, visiting a pharmacy to stock up on whatever I could get, including Viagra, Ativan, Tramadol, and Adderall, different ways to self-medicate my way through the war.  I visited a Hindu and a Buddhist temple.  Truth be told, Colombo is not exactly a cultural hotbed.  I went back to the hotel to take a nap, then went back out to explore the nightlife.

I didn’t find any nightlife. There were a few dark sleazy bars around the railway station.  The other hotel bars were dead.  I gave up and decided to take a “tuk-tuk” – a three-wheeled open taxi when a driver stopped and asked me if I wanted to go somewhere.  I told him “Galle Face Hotel,” but he had other ideas.

“Sir, you want lady?” he asked.

“No, not tonight.”  In truth, I was long past paying and whoring around  – I wanted seduction.

“Many beautiful ladies, young girls, clean, fucky-fucky, I take you there”

“No, I am tired.”

“Young girls, very clean,” he said, leering.

Now, I might be depraved, but this offended me a lot.  Since he had opened a subject which offended me, I had no qualms about offending him.  Anyways, he was about five foot five and scrawny.

“No, I don’t like young girls, I like older ladies, aunties. I like the housewife.”

“Sir?”

He didn’t seem to understand, so I rephrased.

“I like married ladies, mothers, thirty, forty, fifty years old.  Are you married?”

“Yes, sir, I am married.”

“How long?”

“Twenty-two years, sir.”

“Is your wife nice?  Pretty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to fuck your wife. Can I fuck your wife?  I will pay one hundred dollars to fuck your wife.”

He immediately pulled over the tuk-tuk, stopped, and turned around to face me.

“Yes, yes, you can fuck my wife.  When?  Not now, tomorrow!”

He had his hand on my leg and was slapping and rubbing it.  He was excited!  The dude wanted to be cucked.  It was amazing.  I asked his name – Sarvam, and shook his hand, saying “It’s a deal, one hundred dollars."

Sarvam drove on and when he dropped me off at the gate of the hotel, we agreed to meet at the same place the next day at one p.m.

I went back to my room, read some of my wife’s emails about her and Paul, and jerked off. The next morning, I got up around eight, had the breakfast buffet (very good), and relaxed in my room.  I wasn’t sure Sarvam would show up, but I was relishing the anticipation.  At ten minutes to one, I took a bottle of water out of the minibar refrigerator and walked down to the front.  One o’clock passed, but I gave it a few extra minutes and Sarvam pulled up in his tuk-tuk.  He was alone.

“You come to my house, see the wife.”

I was a bit wary, but I remembered Sarvam’s enthusiasm for the idea of me fucking his wife. I had lived through a couple of ambushes, roadside bombs, and rocket attacks, so my brain circuits were now always hypervigilant.  I assessed that the risk was low of a robbery and calmed down.  I still wondered if he might try to pass off some old whore as his wife and split the $100 with her, though.  Still, I took and chewed a 100mg tablet of Viagra and took a drink of water from my bottle.  That was a huge dose of Viagra for me, but I wanted to be ready and able to be hard as a pipe under all conditions.  Just for an extra boost of energy, I also took 20mg of Adderall.  

He drove me inland in his tuk-tuk through an ever-smaller series of boulevards, roads, to a long series of narrow alleys, first paved then unpaved.  Finally, we pulled in front of a concrete house, half unpainted and without some windows.  The house was surrounded by bushes and banana trees.  The yard was unpaved and dusty.  There were chickens and barefoot kids running around in the yard.  We walked into the open door of the house into a kitchen, where there was an elderly woman bent over rolling chapatis or purris from dough.  She only gave me a glance.  There were kids peeking from doorways.

Sarvam looked around and led me into a living room / TV room, which was dark from the curtains.  He motioned to a woman sitting on a couch which had cotton sheets thrown over the cushions, which were still in the original plastic wrap.  I looked at the woman and said, “Hello, how are you?  My name is Jerry.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

“What’s your name?”

“Yes,” she said, again.

Obviously, not a fluent English speaker.  Maybe not too smart, either, impossible to tell.  She stood up.  She was a bit tall, as tall as Sarvam’s five foot five.  Not as dark as Sarvam, coffee and milk rather than almost black.  Shoulder-length black hair.  She was dressed in one of those cotton shift dresses which are loose, so I couldn’t exactly determine her figure.  I could see that her boobs and ass filled out the loose dress, and I couldn’t see any potbelly bulge at her middle, so she had a womanly shape, even though she had a “few extra pounds.”  I turned to Sarvam, with a big smile.  “What’s her name?  She’s beautiful.”  

“Her name is Anita.”

I made a step closer to her and leaned over her, just a quick hand on her waist, and pulled her into me to kiss her on the cheek.  She giggled a bit, she was shaking from nervousness, but it looked like a good, excited nervousness.  I had no idea what Sarvam had told her.  From Sarvam’s familiarity with her and the other people in the house – the old lady, the kids – it was obvious they were married.

I had read Neil Strauss’s The Game when I found it sitting around in a rec room on a base.  From there, I read a lot of the fast seduction and neurolinguistic programming websites on the internet in my free time.  I had used the lessons on various women in Doha, Dubai, Europe and the USA.  It worked!  Given Anita’s limited English, I was going to have to use whatever non-verbal and body language skills I had.   I focused my blue eyes on her brown eyes like a laser, rule number one.  I simplified my English down to the basics.  Also, I repeated her name as much as I could.

“Anita, you are very beautiful.”

“Yes.”   She did that Indian side-to-side headshake thing, amusing.

“Anita, I am happy to meet you.  Thank you, Sarvam, for bringing me to Anita.”

“Yes.”  The head-shake again.  I gave her a big smile.

“Are you” – I pointed to her – “happy to be” – I pointed at myself – “with me?”  

I pursed my lips in a kiss.  She gave the little head-shake again.

“Yes.”

There had been kids shyly peeking into the room.  It was obvious that this was not going to be a good location for what I wanted, no privacy or discretion.

“Sarvam, let’s go to my hotel, we can have a drink” – I made a drinking motion and smiled at Anita.  I also pulled out a folded $100 bill and showed it to him.

“Yes, we can go.”  He was also obviously nervous.

Anita spoke to Sarvam in what?  Tamil?  Sinhala?  I didn’t know.  I gathered that Anita insisted on changing, so we waited a few minutes until she came out of their bedroom in a dirndl-type blouse and a skirt a little below the knees.  Yes, she would do fine, and I felt my dick swelling under the influence of the situation and the big dose of Viagra I had taken.  We all got into the tuk-tuk.  I sat in the back with Anita, while Sarvam drove (no front passenger seat on a tuk-tuk).  Once we got going, I stretched my arm over Anita’s shoulder and pulled her closer.  She giggled.  I turned towards her and looked into her eye, smiling.  This was gonna be fun.

We got to the Galle Face, and Sarvam parked the tuk-tuk on the road just outside the gate.  I took Anita’s hand to support her step down from the tuk-tuk, then pulled her towards the hotel gate before letting go of it for reasons of discretion and shame.  I walked confidently and led them into the hotel lobby and went right to the bank of elevators, pushing the button.  I gave Anita a little nudge with my hip when we got on the elevator and smiled at her.

“Here is my room.”  I wanted Anita to take the luxury in, to enjoy it and think about it as a symbol of my wealth and ability.  I motioned for Sarvam to sit down in one of the lounge chairs and for Anita to take a place on a loveseat in front of the king-size bed, now all made up with white linens.  I was eager, but I knew I needed to let her get comfortable.  I called room service and ordered two vegetarian pizzas, because I didn’t know about their dietary habits.

“Are you Sinhala, or Tamil?”

This time, Anita surprised me, she answered. “We are Tamil.”

“Oh, that is very hard here in Sri Lanka.”  I was referring to the civil wars that took years to end.

“Yes.”  A nervous head shake.

“Do you know M.I.A?”  I pulled out my smartphone to find a picture of the Tamil singer and showed it to them.

“Yes.”  

I put on M.I.A.’s Paper Planes from YouTube, turned up the volume, and got up to dance a little.  She giggled a bit.

I balanced between making her comfortable and boring her.  I didn’t want to keep being a dancing monkey, though.  I broke out the booze, the cure for boredom.  I took the bottle of Stoli and some orange soda and Coke out of the refrigerator.  

“Coke or orange?  I held up the small bottles.  Sarvam wanted Coke, Anita wanted orange.  I poured a very big shot of vodka for both of them, and added sugar from the tea and coffee service for Anita’s drink, because the orange soda wouldn’t mask that amount of vodka.  I poured less vodka for myself and used the same orange soda to set Sarvam apart from her and me.  I served them and raised my glass.

“Cheers.  I like orange soda.”  Fortunately, we were able to finish our first drinks before the pizzas arrived, so the alcohol would be absorbed quicker.

I kept the room service guy at the door and tipped him before I wheeled the room service cart in.  I mixed another round of strong drinks for them.  Anita looked happy eating the pizza.  Placid, plump, and passive. Sarvam ate one pizza on his own.  I had a quarter of the other, as I had eaten a big breakfast and later some fruit to fuel myself.  I drank another liter of water – if there’s one thing I’ve learned, dehydration will keep your dick limp.

It was time to get things going.  I edged closer to Anita on the loveseat, put my arm around her and pulled her in.  She leaned out, giggling again.  Sarvam said something in Tamil.  I leaned over to kiss her and lick her on the neck.  My hand reached around her body and stroked her right breast.

Time to deploy the green aphrodisiac and seal the deal.  I pulled a new Benjamin Franklin out of my cargo shorts and gave it to Anita.  I wanted to “empower” her by giving her the money, put Sarvam on the sidelines, and turn her on with wealth, as it’s my observation that greed and lust are closely related in women.  She put it into her small purse.

With that, I leaned in to give her a full kiss on the lips, slipping my tongue into her mouth.  I knew this was a much bigger thing in their culture than ours, it’s almost as intimate as sex itself.  She responded, sticking her tongue into my mouth and returning my embrace, putting her arms around my body.  Nothing turns me on more than a woman kissing me with ardor, a tent started to grow in my shorts.

Yes, this was exploitative, but I had no mercy for Sarvam, who was pimping and taking kickbacks from brothels.  I thought “fuck him.”  This turned me on more.

Anita smelled a little sweaty, as I probably did.  Having seen their house, I didn’t want to leave hygiene “down there” to chance, so I thought to take a shower with her.  I also wanted to break down Sarvam a little.  I stood up, and pulled Anita to her feet, facing me.  I looked at Sarvam.

“Anita is going to take a shower with me.”  He nodded, speechless in shock.  I knew something of what he was going through.  I pulled my t-shirt off, then Anita’s blouse.  I kissed her and reached around to unhook her bra running my hands over her back and down to her ass as the bra fell away.  I found the clasp on the back of her skirt and unhooked that, too, pushing the skirt down to the floor.  I pulled her bra off her shoulders.  

She was now naked before me except for her cotton “granny panties.”   I took her hand and led her to the grand bathroom, covered in classic black and white tiles.  I took my shorts off, and my hard-on sprung out.  I then squatted to pull Anita’s panties down.  I was pleased with what I saw.  She did indeed have a big ass, and her boobs only sagged a little.  Only one little fat-roll at the waist, which was nicely narrower than her hips.  All in all, very similar to my wife’s 34C – 33 – 40 or so, but taller, which I liked.

The bathroom was luxurious, with both a big shower stall and a large bathtub.  I led her into the shower stall, which had various controls and outlets, including a hand-held nozzle.  I turned the water on – cold water is never an issue in the tropics, and soaped her back and underarms up, then myself up.  I turned her around and kissed her, she kissed me back.  I took the bar of soap and rubbed it over her pussy, stuck it inside and stroked her clitoris with it.  I could feel she was wet and that her clitoris was fat.  I squatted a bit and grabbed my hard cock to rub it over her pussy lips.  I then kissed her deeply.  I took the hand nozzle and rinsed her off, paying more attention to her pussy.   I shut the water off and grabbed one of the king-size bath towels to dry her off with, rubbing her back with them to give her pleasure.  I dried myself off minimally and took her by the hand again to lead her back into the bedroom.  Sarvam was still there, of course.  I pulled down the covers of the bed and pulled Anita on to it.

My dick had gone soft, so I lay on my back and pulled Anita’s head down onto it.  I was pleased to see she knew what I meant and began to suck it.  My dick responded quickly and soon was full length and hard.  She was a pretty good cocksucker, no teeth and she used her hand to stroke the shaft while she sucked the top of it.  She was so good, in fact, that Sarvam made an angry-sounding remark in Tamil from his chair.  Anita looked up at him and said something that sounded plaintive.

I wasn’t going to put up with comments from the cheap seats, so I rolled out of bed, naked and with my cock jutting out, and put my hand firmly on Sarvam’s shoulder, pushing him down and shoving him back into the chair a little.

“You have to shut up,” I said.  Not angry, but in what they call “command voice” in the military.  He gave a little shrug and made a face.  I got back into bed, kissing Anita deeply and running my hands over her body.  I pulled her leg up over my waist and reached down to stroke her pussy, which was very wet.  As it always does, this touch of wetness made my dick rock-hard.  I stroked her clitoris and she began to buck her hips in response.  She was getting wetter and I kept stroking her with four fingers over her clitoris as she got more and more turned on.  I sucked on her tits, then moved down to suck on her pussy.

She pushed me away.  “No... no.”  I wondered if Sarvam or any other man had ever done this to her.  Maybe not.  I pushed my arms under her legs, grabbed her hands and pinned them to the bed, then pushed her legs apart.  I started licking the labia gently, teasing, touching the clitoris with the tip of my tongue, then drawing back to her outer labia.  A little licking, sticking the tongue into her pussy a little, then a few tongue strokes on the clit.  When she started to buck her hips up to meet my tongue, I released my grip on her hands and reached up to fondle her breasts, gently squeezing her nipples.  Soon she was bucking her hips against my mouth to the degree that her pubic bone was striking my nose and jaws.  She moaned in a low but continuous “Uhhhhh... uhhhhh” until she really started bucking and got a bit louder.  I knew she was coming, but I didn’t let up right away.  I slowed down and pulled back and decided it was my turn.

I got up on my knees and spit on my hand and rubbed it on my dick, then lowered myself to my elbows and pushed myself in.  She had a good feel, seemed a perfect fit for my average-sized six-inch dick.  I moved slow and rhythmically, long deep strokes, shallow strokes, grinding my pubic bone against her clit.  I was going to take as much time as I could.  I was glad I had jerked off the night before.  We were going to give Sarvam a full show.  I pushed up on my arms and began to slam into her, turned on by the look in her eyes meeting me.  I looked over at Sarvam, who was giving us his full attention.  There was no issue of a condom.  I don’t know why.  Anita was somewhere in her mid-to-late forties, I estimated.  Maybe they knew her fertile days were past.

I was in a groove where the 100mg Viagra, the Adderall, the vodka, and Anita’s agreeable response had combined to give me a rock-hard, undefeatable cock.  I pounded her on top for minutes, then flipped her over and put her on top of me, moving up to sit against the many pillows on the bedstead, so I had full access to suck her tits and kiss her.  I barely moved, just pushing my hips up a little and grinding my pubic bone against her clit while.  I wanted Anita to do the moving.  Soon she began to rise up and down, stroking my dick with her pussy and clit.  She was moaning the same low “uhhhhhh... uhhhhh.”  I pumped up to match her rhythm, slamming my dick into her.  Her pussy juice was running down over my crotch.  I could go on forever this way.  Sarvam muttered something from his chair.  We ignored him.  We were kissing and she was sucking my lower lip purple.  She was passionate!  She moved up on her haunches and began to bounce up and down, in that way I got worried she might miss and break my dick.  After a couple of minutes of that, she was breathing heavily, so I flipped her back down on her back and let her relax.  I spread my right leg over her left leg, a position which allowed me to grind into her deeper and which my previous women loved.

I took it slow, let her catch her breath and gave myself a rest, just stroking it in and kissing her.  More muttered words in Tamil from Sarvam, ignored.  Getting into a trance state of fucking, feeling the skin outside and inside her.  Still with the steel dick.  My lower lip with swollen and purple from her sucking it.  We had been at it for at least half an hour.  Anita had come, what, three, four times?  You can never be sure.  I decided to come, but could I?  

Doggy-style always got me there quickest, I was going to have to work at coming this time.  I turned her over and lifted her hips, stuffing a couple of the many pillows under her chest and belly for support.  I slipped in from behind, admiring her phat ass.  She was well-lubed, so I started slamming it in to get the friction I would need to get off.  Our flesh was loudly slapping against each other.  I was banging her hard, just hitting it while she moaned her “uhhhhh... uhhhh.”  I was getting a good cardio workout, minute after minute.  I would reach around and fondle her nipples and kiss her back.  I bored back in, quick strokes, rubbing the sensitive tip of my dick on the edge of her pussy, taking in her ass and her curves.  After ten or fifteen minutes of this, I needed a break, so I turned her over for missionary and kept slamming her with my upper body resting on my elbows.  Hitting her pussy with the tip of my dick, I began to feel myself getting close.  I kissed her and made the race to come, finally getting the relief of those spasms but not stopping because I wanted to empty my balls into her.  After that, I laughed and she laughed too, in pure relief.

I lay down on my back next to Anita.  Sarvam was still sitting there, not looking happy.  He said something that sounded like it could be “let’s go” in Tamil.  I got up to use the bathroom, rinsed myself off and put my shorts on.  When I came out, Sarvam was standing and Anita was getting dressed into her panties and bra.  I invited Sarvam, “Would you like to use the bathroom?” and gestured towards it.  He nodded and went in.  When he went in and closed the door, I grabbed Anita and gave her a deep kiss, which she returned in ardor.

I decided I wanted more.  I kept kissing Anita until Sarvam came out, when she pushed me away.  I looked at Sarvam.  

“I want Anita to stay with me tonight,” I said, pulling a $100 bill out of my pocket.  I offered it to Anita. “Do you want it?  You stay,” pointing down at the floor.  Sarvam shook his head and said something in Tamil.  I took another $100 bill out, holding both of them out to Anita.  “You stay,” pointing at her, the floor, and then the bed.  “He goes home,” pointing at Sarvam and giving a hand-wave towards the door.  “OK?”

“OK,” she said, and I gave her the $200.  It was small change to me.  I spoke to Sarvam, “She is OK with me.  You can go home.”  I shook his hand to give him some respect.  He said something in Tamil to Anita, she said something and did that head-wave thing.  “I will see you later,” I said.  “OK?”  “OK,” he answered, and turned and walked out the door.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was pleasant.  As soon as Sarvam left, I stripped Anita and gave her a long, slow fuck.  We rested in bed, and I ordered room service dinners and a bottle of white wine.  She enjoyed the luxury, and I was happy to provide it.  We couldn’t communicate verbally, but we did well non-verbally.  Watched some TV, fell asleep, and I woke her up when I woke with a hard-on.  She was louder and more passionate with Sarvam gone.

At around 9 a.m., she got up, showered, dressed, and left.  I got up and gave her a goodbye kiss.  She didn’t have a phone number – she didn’t have a phone.  I flew back to Doha the next day and spent a long year (minus R&Rs) in Kandahar.  I never saw Anita or Sarvam again.